


Jeeves and the Dismissal

by Niektete (therealfroggy)



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:46:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/Niektete
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a chap comes home to find his preferred soulmate kissing another man, well, there's only so much he can do about it. Excepting, of course, situations where one's p.s. is also one's valet. In which case a dismissal might be in order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Dismissal

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into English available: [Дживс и увольнение](https://archiveofourown.org/works/661183) by [Dreaming_Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreaming_Cat/pseuds/Dreaming_Cat)



It was a beautiful day; just the sort to write home about. Letters and postcards and whatnot seemed appropriate for such a day. The sun was shining, blue skies were lifting a chap's spirits and what have you. They got rather more sun here in America than in the old kingdom, don't you know; it must have something to do with that capitalism, which everyone seems to be awfully fond of.

Well, the day in itself was rather spiffing, but even the sun could not outshine the grin on the Wooster dial. I was feeling rather boomps-a-daisy, you see, and I was smiling to show it.

I was in love.

Yes, Bertie Wooster, who has often fled and declared he would rather be dead in a ditch when confronted with marriage, was in love. Quite smitten, in fact. More so because I had only recently discovered my _tendre_ ; in fact, I just woke up the day before and realized I was in love. Dashed rummy, what?

But there you have it. Bertram Wilberforce Wooster was in love, and for the first time with quite agreeable odds of _not_ mucking it up.

I had in my hands a box of chocolates and a bottle of champagne, the latter camouflaged in newspaper; gifts which I intended to bestow upon my heart's desire. Whistling a merry tune, I stopped to buy myself a fresh buttonhole on my way back to the flat.

Now, I can just see you blinking in confusion. I'll wager you are thinking, Why would you go back to the flat, you silly ass? Why not run – or hail a taxicab – straight into the arms of my beloved, before the buttonhole wilted and the champagne became a fair sight less sparkly?

I see I've gone off the rails again. I have quite neglected to tell you who my beloved was, so of course you can't know why I was headed for the New York flat instead of the humble abode of whomever my heart was set upon.

Well, I can tell you that I was headed back to the flat in order to woo my beloved, because said b. was, in truth, Jeeves. My manservant.

Dashed rummy, I know. But actually, when one thinks about it, it's not all that rummy after all. I mean to say, Jeeves is a marvel. He's brainy, and wonderful at cooking, and an absolute stunner at keeping our lives and household running smoothly. He's the perfect wife, really – except I could never call him my wife, or anyone's for that matter; I rather think he'd be insulted.

Of course, he's not exactly hard on the eyes either, if you see what I mean. That sort of helped me toddle 'round to the realization that I was quite hopelessly in love with him.

Oh, I get carried away again. Well, I entered the apartment building, and rode the elevator while I hummed happily.

The lift attendant looked with a grin on the parcels in my hands. “Visiting a lady friend, Mr. Wooster?”

“No, no, just going home,” I replied blithely. The attendant looked at me with an odd expression, but refrained from saying anything. Just as well, really; Jeeves tells me that our American lift man shows absolutely no proper feudal spirit with all that chattering of his.

Still humming, I swung open the door to the flat and called out, “Jeeves, I'm!”

Why should I call something that silly, you might wonder? Why not something more comprehensible, like “Jeeves, I'm home?” Well, I can tell you right now, I had every intention of calling just that. But the sight that met my eyes when I threw open the door, left me quite dumb.

Rocky Todd was standing in the middle of our living room, a book in one hand. The other hand was resting against Jeeves' chest. The poet's lips were resting against Jeeves' ditto.

But it was Jeeves' hand, gently cupping Rocky's jaw, that finally stopped my mouth.

At my abruptly ended call, they broke apart quickly, turning towards me.

“Bertie!” Rocky began, sounding a little breathless and very smug, indeed.

“Sir -” Jeeves interrupted, to be interrupted in turn by a loud cry from yours truly:

“Jeeves, you're fired!”

Then I dashed to my bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me with a satisfying racket.

“Well, I like that!” I muttered, anger filling the Wooster mind to the extent of quite evicting other thoughts. I paced a few times across my bedroom floor, all but foaming at the mouth.

Then a knock was executed on the bedroom door.

“Bertie? What are you doing?”

It was Rocky, the blighter. Rocky, the very same Jeeves had been kissing mere moments earlier.

I phaw-ed and pish-ed. “Go away, Rocky! If you know what's good for you, old fruit, you'll head for the hills before I regurge from this bedroom!” I was quite furious with them both!

“I believe the word you are looking for, is emerge, sir.”

At Jeeves' polite voice, the old Wooster frame slumped, and a bit of a hollow feeling was beginning to replace some of the anger.

“Well, dash it, Jeeves! I believe I just instructed you that you're fired! Your command of the English language is no longer a required service in this household! Nor any other language, I might add!”

What a frightful thing to do! Here I was, come home to declare my love for my brainy valet, with champagne and all, and he went and kissed Rocky Todd, right before my very eyes! Quite beastly, I think!

“Sir, if you would allow me to explain -”

Tears sprung to my eyes and I ran to the door, flinging it open to face my tormentor.

“Get out of my sight, Jeeves! I am going out. And I expect you to be long gone when I return!”

And then I threw the champagne and chocolates to the floor (I was still holding them in my hands, as a matter of fact), and fled the apartment.

I hailed a taxicab and almost asked the driver to take me to the Drones club before remembering that I was in America. In New York, to be specific.

“The Pumpkin club, then,” I said miserably. Now that all my fellow Drones had returned to old Blighty, I was quite alone in this big city, and had only the bootlegged drink for a companion.

I gave the doorman my hat and walking stick, and informed him that if anyone came looking for me, I wasn't there. Then I went into the bar and ordered the largest _pot of coffee_ they could supply, quite determined to drink myself into blissful ignorance.

I was progressing with my third cup when Rocky came bursting into the room.

“Bertie!” he exclaimed. “I'm so glad I found you, Bertie!”

The scoundrel slid onto a barstool next to me.

“I've been going through all the clubs for three blocks, telling them I was looking for Bingo Little – some friend of yours, Jeeves mentioned him -”

“Oh, Jeeves did, did he?” I asked, and I meant it to sting.

“Bertie, please, don't tell anyone,” the scoundrel pleaded, placing a hand on my arm insistently. “If you want to fire Jeeves, I can't stop you, but please don't tell anyone! We could go to prison!”

I phaw-ed at him. “Well, I like this! First you, you _compromise_ yourselves in my flat, and then you insu... insind... what's the word I want?”

The poet shrugged and I frowned.

“Well, then you whatsit that I should go and have you arrested! Unsporting, old chap; just plain unsporting!”

Rocky's face furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Never mind, Rocky,” I said. “I don't think I ever want to see you again. Go away, or I shall call the doorman.”

Rocky hesitantly got to his feet. “Then you won't tell anyone?”

I waved him away morosely. “I shouldn't bother,” I said, and I meant that to sting even more.

Rocky finally left, and I ordered another pot of faux coffee. My anger, though further incensed by Rocky's untimely appearance (and why would I go and blather to the law about my valet not returning _my_ sentiments, but rather those of Rocky Todd?), was beginning to ebb and make way for anger's cousin; a sadness that sort of gnaws on your insides until it bally well hurts.

I was just about to down-the-hatch my seventh cup of illegal alcohol when the doorman came and tapped me on the shoulder.

“A man here to see you,” he said. “I said you weren't here, but then he just told me not to insult his intelligence. He says he won't leave until he's seen you.”

“What sort of man?” I asked, suspicious. All my friends in New York were members and could have come in if they wanted to.

“Tall, dark-haired, looks like he's smelling something nasty when he looks at your tie,” the doorman said.

I was just about to stand up and say something undignified when the coffee kicked in, and I slumped forwards over the bar.

“Tell him... Tell him he can go and boil his head!” I said into my arms. “I don't want to talk to him at all. And I still expect he's got some packing to do.”

Looking confused, the doorman went away, presumably to convey my message to my former manservant.

The thought that Jeeves would no longer be such, that is to say, my manservant, made the aforementioned gnawing increase tenfold, and I was quite overwhelmed. No more “Good morning, sirs,” no more restoratives after drinking like I was currently doing, no more extracting the young Wooster from various clutches of the female persuasion.

I'll admit I was sorely tempted to run out to tell Jeeves he wasn't fired after all. But a man's pride, and general peace of mind, must come before any thoughts of missing one's valet.

Besides, my legs were bally well drunker than I was!

***

“Sir, we're closing.”

I lifted my head from my arms, frowning in the general direction of the voice apparently directed at me. “Whassat?”

“We're only open 'till midnight,” the doorman said, gently helping me to my feet. “It's ten past, now. I've called a car for you.”

“Ah, thank you, my good man,” I said, leaning on the fellow for support. My legs didn't seem to be as drunk as the rest of me any more. Between the two of us, we got the old Wooster corpus into the waiting taxicab, and I somehow made it from said t. and up to my flat, too.

Remarkable what the human body is capable of when under the sauce.

Fumbling around in my waistcoat pocket for the key, I heard a polite cough behind me, as if from a particular sheep on that very distant hillside I so often allude to. I turned around with a drunken glare, if I say so myself.

“Sir, you left your key behind earlier this afternoon,” Jeeves said, though it was well past midnight. He held out a small, silvery thing in his hand.

“You're fired!” I bellowed, at a loss. What did one say to one's former valet when he returned one's forgotten key?

“Sir, I believe you are making a grave mistake,” Jeeves said, and his voice was urgent. “If I may be permitted to -”

“Well, of all the bally nerve!” I slurred, then grabbed the key from Jeeves' gloved hand. “Hand that over!”

With a healthy combination of luck, brute force and a hellish determination to be away from the tormenting sight of Jeeves' finely chiselled features, I managed to enter the flat and slam the door angrily behind me. Then I barely managed to stumble over to the sofa before collapsing onto it.

I must have fallen asleep on said s., for I woke up on the living room floor the next morning. My back was all but roaring at me what an ass I was for not sleeping in my bed, and I quite agreed with it. Thirsty and disorientate, I looked around for Jeeves with my tea tray.

“Jeeves?”

But no reply was forthcoming, of course. Miserably, I toddled into the kitchen, and rooted through the cabinets for anything edible at all.

I didn't recognize anything. Was this stuff really what, by and large, wound up inside the Wooster corpus? Surely those slings of pink fat in the cold cabinet, were not my morning bacon? And the tea – where was the blasted tea?

I gave it up as a bad job. I decided that there must be a diner somewhere in the vicinity where one could get a proper cuppa and at least some toast, with perhaps a few helpings of bacon and eggs. But first I must change; gentlemen do not wear rumpled evening wear in the metrop.

Or did they?

“Now hold on, Wooster,” I said to myself, remembering Jeeves' disapproving look as he discovered my latest article of fashionable clothing. “Don't they, now? We'll jolly well see about that, by Jove!”

A mistake, was it? What nerve, really, to come to my flat and tell me I was the one doing something less than reasonable, when _he_ was the one who had been kissing Rocky Todd in my living room! Oh, no. The days of the Jeeves regime in our household were over. And I would do as I pleased, or my name was not Bertram Wilberforce Wooster!

The first thing I found, was my favourite grey suit. Jeeves had never had any objection to it save for travel wear, but it would have to do. I also managed to find, at the very back of our wardrobe, my brand new two-toned shoes; black and white and an absolute hit at the Drones. I'd only worn them once, of course, because Jeeves had looked so disapproving I almost felt sorry for the chap.

I found a tie to match Bingo Little's old horseshoe rag; it was dark blue with magenta anchors on it. Rather a natty affair; one which I had only been able to keep away from Jeeves' intervention by hiding it and never wearing it.

Finally, I left the apartment without a hat, determined to find one before going to breakfast. The first hat shop I encountered could provide me with exactly the sort of straw hat that Jeeves disliked so. The shop assistant was even kind enough to find me one with a bright blue band that he insisted set off my eye colour to full effect.

Thus armed, I vindictively went into a rather dismal little diner, and ordered a proper breakfast. I was starving.

“Ha,” I said to myself as I accosted my bacon with great vigour. “Now we shall see what gentlemen do and do not wear in the metrop!”

Having had my fill of b. and e., I left the diner, contemplating whether or not to grow a moustache. I also decided I must throw out all the improving books from our – or rather, my – apartment, and replace them instead with romance drivel and mystery novels; just the sort Jeeves would despise.

Anger and indig-whatsit were doing a spiffing job of replacing the sadness of the night before; in fact, Jeeves' visit to my flat had made me even angrier than Rocky's intrusion in the club. I was now determined never to feel regret at having fired Jeeves and sent him from me; instead, I was hell-bent on breaking free of the hold he mysteriously seemed to have on me.

“Excuse me, my good man,” I said, stopping a man walking past me. “You don't happen to know a good bookshop around here, do you?”

The man pointed to the nearest crossing street. “Just around the corner; can't miss the sign.”

I thanked him and headed around said c. I already had a few books in mind that I shouldn't like to read, but would purchase nonetheless.

“Ah, good afternoon,” I said by way of greeting the book salesman. “Where do you keep the non-improving books?”

He looked at me with a slightly odd expression. “The what books?”

“Non-improving. You know, romance drivel and mysteries and whatnot.”

The fellow seemed quite dense, because he only stared at me. Finally, he cleared his throat. “We don't sell _drivel_ , mister. But if you want mysteries, maybe you'd like the latest Holmes novel?”

“Oh, rather!” I said, then thought better of it. “No, wait. Holmes is quite an intelligent chap, isn't he? I don't want anything with intelligent chaps in it. Don't you have anything with -”

The little bell on the door sounded behind me, and I was interrupted by a rather familiar, “Sir!”

I turned around only to be faced with Jeeves, who proceeded to promptly drop all his parcels, neatly wrapped in brown paper. His eyes were almost wide enough to make him appear shocked, even for a normal chap!

“Oh,” I said, frowning at him. “Never mind, I'll have the latest Rosie M. Banks.”

The proprietor of the shop smiled politely, then biffed off, presumably to find my book.

“What-ho, Jeeves,” I said, and I meant it to sting.

Jeeves bent to retrieve his parcels, still looking rather stricken. “Sir, I am surprised. I would not have thought a mere day should have brought about such change in your... ahem... wardrobe.”

“Don't you sir me, Jeeves; you're still fired!” I said, rather sulkily, I'll admit. “And yes, I found the sudden freedom too hard to resist. Rather natty, what?” I pointed to my tie. “I think I shall buy one just like Bingo's horseshoe affair.”

Jeeves looked positively wounded! Good, I thought. It's nothing short of what he deserves.

“I could not advise it, sir.”

“I don't bally care, Jeeves!” I snapped. Then the proprietor handed me my book, wrapped up, and politely suggested I pay him for it. I handed him the money and legged it out of the shop, heading back to the apartment.

I had made my way two blocks from the bookshop before I noticed that Jeeves had caught up to me. I stopped and turned to face him angrily.

“Now, see here, Jeeves!”

“Sir,” he said, and his voice was so insistent I was rather knocked for a loop. “Sir, please. Allow me half an hour of your time. I must explain; I do not wish for you to judge my character on false premises.”

“Phaw, Jeeves!” I returned. “Rocky has already been to hound me; I assured him I would not tell anyone. Now go away! I don't want to see you.”

And that was when, ladies and gentlemen, Jeeves made a display of human emotion quite worthy of a dramatic moving picture. It was the first time I'd ever seen him do anything more excited than raise his voice half a decibel, if decibel's the word I want.

He grabbed my arm. I stared at him, eyes quite agog.

“Jeeves!”

“Sir, please. I am disinclined to care if you told the _news reporters_ , should you wish to, but I must be allowed to defend myself,” he said, looking me directly in the eyes.

Well. One can't deny a doomed man a last wish, I suppose, so I nodded. “Very well, Jeeves. You shall have half an hour. Where's the nearest pub?”

Jeeves looked ever so slightly stuffy, as he does when he disapproves of the young master's suggestions. “I believe, sir, that this conversation would be more successfully conducted in the privacy of your flat.”

I scowled at him. “Oh, all right, then. But don't get too comfortable, Jeeves; you are still fired!”

I stopped a passing taxicab, and we made our way back to Stuyvesant Towers in silence. Even the silence in the elevator was uncomfortable, as if our lift man was quite aware of the goings-on in the Wooster abode. Surely he couldn't be, but Jeeves did not say a word, and in this, I followed his example.

Finally, the door closed behind us.

“Now, Jeeves, explain to me why it is you perceive I am making a _grave mistake_ in firing you,” I demanded.

Jeeves inclined his head. “I intend to, sir. But perhaps tea would not be objectionable while we converse?”

I was loathe to admit it, but I rather desperately wanted my belated morning Darjeeling – they only had some tasteless bagged leaf in the diner.

“Very well, Jeeves. We shall have tea and conversation in the kitchen.”

The gnawing sadness was making a return tour of the Wooster insides, you see, and the living room was surely to blame. It was, after all, where I had seen Jeeves kissing Rocky. With a tenderness that two chaps really shouldn't share, in my opinion, unless they were Jeeves and myself.

The green-eyed monster is an ugly thing, what?

In a trice, Jeeves presented me with tea and a sort of American sponge cake, which he removed from one of the brown parcels. The feeling of potential domestic bliss was threatening to overwhelm yours truly, so I refused the cake and instead took to burning my tongue with the rather blisteringly – if that's what I mean – hot tea.

“Well?” I asked, looking morosely at the tabletop. By now, the Wooster heart had no room at all for anger; jealousy and despair had taken the thing over and were tearing it to pieces.

“I must know why you dismissed me, sir,” Jeeves said.

Well, you could have knocked me over with an f.! Such frankness was not the customary Jeevesian approach. Still, I rallied my spirits and prepared to give him a good tongue-lashing.

“You were kissing Rocky Todd!” I said. “In my flat!”

Jeeves started oozing disapproval again. He looked at me, and I knew that if he had been an aunt, he would have told me that he was deeply disappointed.

“I did not believe you to be narrow-minded, sir.”

I spluttered. “What! Narrow-minded? I tell you, Jeeves, when a chap -”

Wait. Now, hold your horses, Wooster, I thought. There was one important fact here that I had quite overlooked! Egad, I had quite forgotten to tell Jeeves that I loved him! Despite my suspicions, he had assured me many times that he was not a mind reader. How could he possibly know that I was pipped at Rocky and him, and positively heartbroken, because he loved Rocky and not me?

I felt it was best to rectify the situation at once, so I did. Rectify it, that is.

“I love you, Jeeves!”

Now, if Jeeves' look of outright shock in the bookshop and directness of speech had come as a surprise to me, the look of dumb disbelief on his face just then rattled me to my very bones. He looked stricken; gazing at me with his mouth hanging open and his dark eyes wide open.

“Sir?” he finally croaked, and I was rather worried to hear his voice so broken.

“Are you ill, Jeeves? You don't sound like yourself. You don't look yourself, for that matter,” I pointed out.

He composed himself quickly, but that did not erase the sight of him in utter shock from the Wooster brain.

“No, sir. I am quite well. You... love me, sir?”

“Of course I do! It's the rummiest thing, you know,” I said, reaching into my pocket for a gasper from my case. “I just woke up the other day and found myself hopelessly in love with you. And then you went and kissed Rocky Todd,” I added sourly. “Really, Jeeves. Unsporting, is what I call it! Right in front of my very eyes, too!”

Jeeves suddenly looked exactly like his old self again; his manners were smooth and his voice perfectly calm as he said, “And this, sir, is why you dismissed me from your service, I take it?”

“Well, rather!” I said, and looked sadly up at him. “I can't bally well have you and Rocky Todd turning this into a love nest, can I, when the thought of it not being _our_ love nest, is jolly well unbearable!”

Then – miraculously, as if ten suns broke through the clouds at once, and every last tulip on earth began blossoming at the same time – Jeeves smiled. Not just that subtle quirk of the lips he does sometimes, you understand, but a proper smile! Both corners of the mouth turning upwards and what have you!

“Jeeves?” I said, confused beyond all measure.

Jeeves, rather than answering the young Wooster, rose from his chair, and cupped my cheek with his hand, just like he'd done Rocky's. Then he pressed his lips to mine, with a great deal more pressure than was strictly necessary.

“Mmfh!” I said, and then Jeeves released my lips and sat down once more.

“I say!” I exclaimed, feeling rather light-headed. “That is to say, Jeeves! I say!”

“I love you, too, sir,” Jeeves said with a small smile. “Despite your current ensemble of utterly unsuitable vestments.”

I dropped my gasper. Jeeves discreetly picket it up and placed it in the ashtray.

“Jeeves!”

“Sir.”

“You, I mean, what... But what about Rocky?” I said weakly. My knees would have buckled under me if I had been standing; Jeeves' kiss had somehow completely drained my body of the will to remain in one piece.

“Mr. Todd and I were discussing literature, sir, when he came to call on you yesterday. He expressed an interest in the works of Mr. Wilde, and I read him a passage from _The Picture of Dorian Gray_. It would seem Mr. Todd and I share certain... interests,” Jeeves said.

“Well, you don't go about kissing every chap who reads books, do you, Jeeves?” I asked, more than a little jealous that Rocky had tasted Jeeves' kiss before I did.

“No, sir, I do not. However, Mr. Todd and I are both what is commonly referred to as inverts.” At my confused glance, he added, “Homosexuals. We prefer the company, and, indeed, physical intimacy of other men over that of women. A crime, regrettably, punishable by gaol and at times even hanging.”

My eyes boggled. “That's why Rocky didn't want me telling anyone, what?”

“Quite so, sir. I harbour no romantic feelings for Mr. Todd, but as he shared my tastes...”

“Two of a kind, eh, Jeeves?” I said pensively.

Jeeves' lip curled disdainfully, but he nodded slowly. “In the vernacular, sir, yes.”

“But I still don't understand, Jeeves. If you don't really love Rocky, why kiss him at all?” I asked, watching Jeeves in hope of a little eluci-something.

Jeeves' ivory cheeks took a slight tinge of colour, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he was blushing!

“I have loved you for years, sir. To watch you every day and yet find no release for my love, is torture. You will forgive me, sir, if I confess that I have occasionally sought release elsewhere, as I was convinced you were not capable, or desirous, of returning my sentiments,” Jeeves said.

I blushed quite a bit myself, at his admission. But certainly, I didn't mind him having a little experience in these matters, seeing as I was rather fresh on the subject.

Not that I'd want to hear about his escapades, you understand. But I had only loved Jeeves for two (or was it three?) days; what would such love do to a cove if it went on unchecked for years? It didn't bear contemplation, it simply didn't!

“Well, er. But you're quite certain you love me, Jeeves, rather than Rocky?” I asked, somewhat hesitantly. If he'd have said no, I might have done myself some serious harm!

“I have never loved anyone like I love you, sir,” Jeeves said, and he looked an entirely new and endearing kind of stuffed frog – the embarrassed kind. “And I would never love another again, if you returned my sentiments.”

I grinned widely. “Well, I suppose things turned out perfectly, seeing as I rather wanted you to say something like that. We love just the person we should love, no untimely engagement in sight, and all is right in the world. I say, Jeeves, I should think you concocted this plot from the very beginning, if I didn't know better!”

Jeeves inclined his head towards me, still with a subtle smile that was almost too small to see. “Had this been a plan of my invention, sir, this conversation would have been held two days earlier. I would not have allowed things to progress to this point.”

“Oh, rather,” I said, blushing a little. “Sorry about the whole dismissal, Jeeves; I hope you'll want to resume your post as my valet?”

Jeeves rose, took my hand, and pulled me to my feet. “I should be delighted, sir, provided our relationship undergoes a certain change in nature.”

“What?” I asked. I was quite distracted by Jeeves' hands around me, don't you know; the warmth and subtle scent of him were well in the progress of fogging the Wooster brain.

“Now that I know your feelings for me, sir, I should like to be your lover as well. If that is agreeable to you,” Jeeves murmured against my ear. His lips brushed against my earlobe, and I sighed.

“Well, quite! As long as I shall never have to see Rocky Todd in your arms again,” I said, vaguely wondering whether the removal of several layers of clothing was not something devoutly to be desired or whatnot.

“Never, sir,” Jeeves assured me, and if I hadn't been so busy wondering what the devil his lips were doing to my neck, I should have shuddered at the ardent tone of voice he was using.

Jeeves kissed me again. I could swear I felt more in love with him than I ever had, just from the touch of his lips against mine. And then his tongue entered the fray, if you get me, and I was quite overcome with the sort of feelings that a gentleman doesn't put a name to; at least not in mixed company.

His lips moved from my own to the skin just below my ear, and I had to hold on to his arms rather tightly, clutching the dark fabric in my hands.

“Jeeves,” I gasped. “Good Lord, man; what are you trying to do?”

“Express, sir, with lively interest, the nature of my feelings for you,” Jeeves said, and I could swear his voice sounded devilishly merry, by Jeevesian standards. Then my earlobe disappeared into his mouth, I think; at the very least, that part of the Wooster anatomy was suddenly enveloped in the moist warmth of my valet's eloquent mouth.

“Oh. Um, well, carry on, Jeeves,” I said, and fought to keep my eyes open as Jeeves' mouth continued its assault.

“Very good, sir.”

And Jeeves and those dashed talented lips of his claimed inch after inch of the old Wooster neck until I was quite certain the man was going to eat me alive! Not that I would have minded at that moment, you understand; Jeeves could have stripped every last ounce of flesh from my bones and I would not have minded, as long as his lips were the ones responsible.

“If you would allow me, sir,” Jeeves said when he finally surrendered said inches of n. some while later. Then he began undressing me, in the middle of our kitchen!

“Jeeves!” I exclaimed, blushing. “We're in the kitchen!”

“Yes, sir,” Jeeves said, a very small smirk on his lips.

“Well... You're undressing me,” I pointed out, when the man slid my shirt from my shoulders. Where had my jacket and tie got to, I wondered? And what of my braces?

“Indeed I am, sir,” my valet replied, then began unbuttoning my trousers.

“But Jeeves,” I insisted, but then Jeeves pushed me around until I was backed up against the kitchen counter, and I fell silent again.

There was something wholly un-valet-like about my man at that moment; looking at me with an expression one would expect to see on some filly's face when she's certain she's finally got the old leg shackles 'round my feet, he smirked sort of dangerously and stood rather pressed against me, if you can imagine it.

“If I may, sir?” Jeeves asked delicately, one of his large hands suddenly cupping me through my trousers.

I would be lying if I said that did not cause the old Wooster melon to fill with all sorts of indecent ideas, not to mention colour – on the cheeks, that is.

“Right-ho, Jeeves,” I said weakly, feeling the heat of my valet's body against my own.

Jeeves's hand slid into my unbuttoned trousers, gently encountering the _little Wooster_ in a way that made me rather buck against my man with a decidedly undignified groan. Within moments, I was propped shakily against the counter, trousers and underpants around my ankles, while Jeeves growled something or other in my ear.

“What?” I asked rather breathlessly.

“I was asking, sir, whether you would like my hand or my mouth.”

“By Jove! I, that is to say, what... I say!”

“Very good, sir.”

And the good man, as if receiving babbling preferences from young Woosters on a daily basis, took me into his capable hand and began stroking my heated flesh with a determination and skill that is purely Jeevesian.

“Jeeves!” I cried, for I am certain the man had vapour-whatsit my brain so that I could form no other words.

“Oh, sir,” Jeeves sighed, and then his lips glued themselves to mine once more.

I don't know if you've ever had a man like Jeeves lovingly stroke your, ahem, physical evidence of the highest regard for him. If you have, you'll know what I mean when I tell you that “topping” doesn't even begin to describe the experience. If not, well, you've missed out on one of Life's finer points. Especially if he kisses you passionately while stroking said p.e.

What I mean to say is, I don't think I could have imagined anything more wonderful, even if I had bothered to try.

“May I call you Bertram, sir?”

Jeeves' voice, interspersed with harsh panting, reached through the layers of pleasure swamping my awareness. I moaned at the sound of it, and thrust into Jeeves' touch.

“Jeeves! Oh, yes, Jeeves!”

“Bertram... You cannot possibly know how I've longed for this. How I have secretly desired you, loved you, denied myself the possibility of hope,” Jeeves whispered in my ear.

I buried my face in his neck, clutching at his arm. “Jeeves!”

“Yes.”

Jeeves' breath was hot and damp against my ear, and I felt my body tightening in pleasure.

“Are you close, sir?”

“Yes,” I gasped, turning my head to kiss Jeeves' eloquent lips once more. But just as my labial region had encountered his, the latter disappeared from the vicinity of the former, heading south.

I looked down at him in a daze. He was kneeling on the kitchen floor before me, hand still on my arousal like persistent clockwork, and his eyes met mine, dark with desire.

“Don't hold back, Bertram,” Jeeves said, looking up at me with a certain fondness in all the hunger.

My body was rather tingling at that point. I knew the sticky end was near, if you'll pardon the turn of phrase. And then Jeeves, my darling, brilliant, exceptional man, went ahead and took me into his mouth.

I exploded. There is no other word for it. The entire Wooster body was racked by shudders, wringing cries and helpless moans from my throat as the shivers and shocks went through me like nothing I'd ever felt. I could feel Jeeves' hot, wet mouth around my flesh, but my eyes were shut closely, so I couldn't see it.

“Jeeves! Jeeves, oh, _oh!_ ”

I don't know how to do the thing justice in words. Heavenly choirs were singing, don't you know; the world was ablaze with lovely colours and all that. If my aunt Agatha had come storming into the room at that precise moment, it would not have stopped my moans of delight as the last shudders of my forceful climax racked my mind and body.

“Oh, Jeeves!”

I forced my eyes to open – they seemed more inclined to remain closed. Jeeves released me, discreetly producing a handkerchief to dab at the corner of his mouth, then stood up to smile down at me instead of up at me.

“A satisfactory outcome, sir?”

I gave a tired laugh. “Jeeves, I know you always say you endeavour to give satisfaction, but that was bally well extraordinary!”

“Thank you, sir,” Jeeves said, then leaned in to kiss me again.

He tasted different from before, and I was about to enquire what he'd been eating when I realized that the taste must be my own, by golly!

“Egad, Jeeves!” I said, gazing wide-eyed at him. “You didn't... That is to say, have you -”

“The taste of you is intoxicating, Bertram,” he said softly, a playful sort of smirk on his handsome features. “I have dreamt of it, but reality surpasses the fancy by far.”

I admit I rather blushed at hearing it. “Oh, ah, well.”

Jeeves' clothed loins came into contact with my thigh, and I could feel the hardness ensconced in his black trousers.

“But Jeeves! You haven't... finished,” I concluded, looking with interest and embarrassment at my man. What an inconsiderate ass I was; rushing ahead like that with nary a thought for my valet's physical urgency!

“No, sir,” he agreed, his eyes hooded as he looked at me. “Would you assist me in concluding the matter?”

“Oh, rather!” I said eagerly. I made to unbutton Jeeves' trousers, but the man carefully stilled my hands and placed the right h. against his arousal. Even through his trousers – and presumably underpants – I could feel it; hard and hot under my palm.

“Touch me, Bertram. Please.”

I goggled at my man. Jeeves – say please? And what's more, the man wanted me to assist in soiling his clothing!

“Won't this stain the cloth, Jeeves?” I asked, timidly rubbing my hand against him.

Jeeves uttered a deep moan and leaned on the counter top with a hand on either side of the young master, trapping me between him and the kitchen equipment.

“I shall... wash it thoroughly, sir,” he ground out, and I could feel him jolly well _throb_ against my hand!

“Oh, well, carry on, then, eh?” I asked, smiling happily as I let my hand move faster over the black wool.

“Bertram!”

I say, my man was certainly somewhat of a treat to behold at that moment! I had to rather strain the old neck to look up into his face as he stood so close, but the flushed tone of his normally pale skin was a sight for sore eyes, indeed! His eyes were almost closed, and his tongue flicked out to moist his lips from time to time.

“I say, Jeeves; I never knew you could look quite this handsome!” I said with a small laugh. “This love-making thingummy agrees with you.”

Jeeves stopped the young master's lips at that; that is to say, my man would never interrupt me rudely, but for a Jeevesian kiss, even Bertram can be persuaded to hold his tongue for any length of time.

“Sir,” Jeeves hissed, his hips moving in to encounter my hand every time I moved the appendage in question. “Sir, please! I... I -”

I divined that he wanted me to increase my efforts, so as to bring him over the edge, if you get me. I grasped him rather firmly through the wool of his trousers, and used my hand to its best advantage, as I'm sure Jeeves would agree.

“I love you, Jeeves.”

And so it was that Jeeves, paragon of men and the consummate valet, revealed himself to me in a completely new light – namely that of a lover caught in the desperate throes of passion. Crying out the young master's name, and some words quite unfit for print, if you'll believe it, Jeeves came undone under my hand.

I followed his outburst, if you'll pardon the phrase, with rapt interest. Jeeves' smooth and undecipherable face crumpled into a basely human grimace of pleasure; his eyes rather rolled back and his neck strained backwards until I was afraid the man was doing himself harm.

“Bertram!”

With a great deal of panting breaths and sated groans, my man leaned heavily on the counter top, still caging me in with his capable hands and arms. His lips sought mine, and I eagerly opened the latter. His were already parted, so as to further the cause of allowing our tongues to tangle lazily.

“Oh, sir,” Jeeves murmured, kissing my lips and jaw reverently. “Bertram, I love you. I never wish to leave your side, Bertram; please tell me you will never dismiss me again.”

Well, I was stunned! This steaming, quivering, love-spouting creature in my arms, who sounded more like the Bassett menace than anything else, was Jeeves! My perfect valet! That whole unrequited love thingummy, which had apparently been going on for years before I got round to it, must have taxed the man's brain.

“My dear man, rest assured, I will never send you without ten feet of my person, if I have my way,” I said. I was well aware that a grin was forming on the old Wooster dial, and I had no intention of checking it. “Make up for lost time and all that, what?”

Jeeves smiled slightly at me, but went to setting his hair in order and straightened up. “I apologize, sir, for the nature of my declarations. I must contribute it to my overwhelming relief and joy at having found you reciprocating my sentiments.”

“You were pipped, then, Jeeves, when I sent you away yesterday?” I asked, trying to set my own clothing in order. It proved dashed difficult, and I was grateful for Jeeves' assistance.

“I confess I was greatly distressed, sir,” Jeeves said softly. He gazed at me, and I admit the look in his eyes made me blush. “I could not vouch for my course of action, had I not been successful in explaining the circumstances to you.”

I gaped like a fish out of water. “You mean to say, Jeeves, that in the affairs of love, you're just as desperate as the next chap?”

Jeeves didn't seem to like this indication that he was a mere mortal.

“Perhaps not the words I would choose, sir, but I admit they convey my meaning. I love you, Bertram. I have never felt such sentiments for another, and I am confident I never will. And while friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love, in this case, I believe it would not be sufficient, sir,” Jeeves said.

“Is that one of yours, Jeeves, about balm for pangs and all that?”

“Jane Austen, sir.”

“Ah. Well, a nice image, that. Regardless, Jeeves, you may rest easy. I intend never to banish you from the residence ever again, save to follow me on the many adventures of life,” I said, rather pleased with this turn of phrase.

“Thank you very much indeed, sir. One more thing, sir. Mr Todd -”

“Will have to content himself with seeing Bertram happily ensconced in your arms, Jeeves, if he ever comes calling again,” I stated, quite firmly. “The poor chap can't help it if he's smitten with you, of course, but he will have to bear the strain, what?”

Jeeves inclined his head. “Indeed, sir. While not by any means a sophisticated gentleman, Mr Todd deserves some sympathy.”

My eyes narrowed, don't you know! “Sympathy, Jeeves?”

“Inverts must conceal themselves from society, Bertram. Like ourselves, he can never let his tastes become known, lest the repercussions will ruin him.”

I started. “Egad, Jeeves! We can't tell anyone, can we?”

“No, sir.”

“Not even my pals at the Drones?”

“Particularly not them, sir.”

“And not my aunts either? Dash it, I would have thought it would stop them trying to marry me off.”

“If ours was a socially acceptable disposition, it would undoubtedly have made the situation less complex should your aunts be aware of your disinclination towards the gentler sex, sir.”

“But what will we tell all the females who try to become engaged to me all the time? We can't exactly say that I'm too busy manhandling my manservant to marry them, what?”

Jeeves smirked a little at that. “I shall tell them, Bertram, that you are an eccentric, and that you have expressed a desire to move to the European Alps, where it is your intention to take up rabbit farming. If any young lady should, despite these prospects, be inclined to marry you, I am sure we will think of a stratagem to meet the situation.”

I sighed with content. “Yes, Jeeves, you probably will. You always do.”

My man smiled slightly. “I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir.”


End file.
